Murders at Midnight
by Awhoha
Summary: Sherlock/John have to solve another murder involving a shady midnight murderer. Takes place after the Town Clown Killer. SLASH. Lots of smut. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

The blade was broad and heavy, a small metal spike rising from the tip. The double-edged blade was made out of the finest metal, putting the rest of the broadswords to shame. The Khanda hung from the London Museum on the white-washed wall gleaming in the dim light. Footsteps echoed through the night as the guard patrolled the museum halls. He whistled a soft tune as he twirled his baton. His eyes scanned to and fro the ancient artifacts that resided throughout the many rooms. He made his rounds past the swords exhibition. He stopped to pause, admiring the great Rajput sword. The khanda was said to have belonged to a great King from Rajputana or Rajwar who fought in a great war. People that this very sword was enchanted, helping the King destroy anyone who opposed him. It was over 500 years old and still in excellent condition, never rusting, never aging. Turning, the night guard continued down his way. He shone his flashlight through the dim lights that shone over head. He paused, hearing a faint reverberation throughout the empty halls. He made his way back to the sword exhibition. He shone his light up, examining the walls. His eyes widened in shock as he stared at the now empty spot where the khanda had been resting. He pulled at his radio that was resting by his hip and called into it asking for anyone who would be able to help. The night guard tried again. He was receiving no response. Cursing he turned and walked swiftly out towards the end of the sword room. He never made it passed the door. With a silent and deadly hiss the great khanda flew down with brute force. The man fell to the floor, a silent _O_ finishing on his lips.

The sun shown through the windows of 221B Baker Street. John Watson was drinking his morning tea, writing on his blog. After the Town Clown Killer case, which was about a month ago, there had hardly been any exciting cases to solve. Of course there had been cases to solve, but nothing on an intense scale. The tea was warm in John's hand. He smiled as the sweet tasting tea slid down his throat. Fresh peppermint tea. had gotten fresh leaves from one of the neighbors who had had a garden in the summer. He had brewed it to perfection, the intoxicating scent filling the living room. He sat on the armchair, his feet propped up next to the warm fire. After a few moments, he closed his laptop, closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound of the crackling flames. An abnormal sound cut through the calm and relaxing atmosphere. The sound screeched, advancing into the living room. John rubbed his head, feeling a headache approaching. Sherlock Holmes barged into the living room, rapidly firing away on his violin. Standing in front of the Doctor, Sherlock looked down at him, his eyes bright. His long slender fingers danced along the strings, his other wildly moving the bow. John gritted his teeth...One...Two...Three...John grabbed those pale hands. The screeching stopped. Sherlock smirked at John. John glared at the detective, loving the way the lips turned up to one side.

"You know how very annoying it is when you play that dreadful thing," John said not releasing Sherlock's hands. Sherlock sniffed.

"It is not a _dreadful thing_, John, it is a violin. It is the smallest member of the violin family which includes the cello and viola. The word _violin_ comes from the Middle Latin word _vitula_ meaning _stringed instrument_. I have a very wonderful classical violin that plays exceptionally well."

"Yes it is a very beautiful violin, but please Sherlock, you need not assault the strings." John looked up into the gray-blue of Sherlock's eyes, his dark ones trying to read the expressions hiding in their deeps. Sherlock frowned, lightly insulted. John chuckled. He let go of the detectives hands and reached back for his laptop, his peace and quiet lost. Sherlock was too fast for him, he grasped John's laptop with his free hand, for he had disposed of the violin bow, and snatched it away. John sighed.

"Give it back Sherlock. I have to finish a few things before lunch."

"Kiss me first."

John looked into Sherlock's face. Dark curls framed his handsome face. Bright intelligent eyes, full lips. The perfect man. His frown still lingered on his face, but John could tell a mischievous smile was trying to break through. John felt his abdomen tighten as he moved his head up to meet Sherlock's kissable lips. The kiss was feather light, their mouths barely touching, but then deepened into one filled with fiery desire. Sherlock let out a soft groan as John massaged his hands through his thick curls. Sherlock smiled between kisses as John let out a feral growl deep within his throat. Sherlock had been John's lover for a month. He never got bored kissing John. Every kiss was different, more passionate then the next. Sherlock closed his eyes, swimming in desire. He felt his hands place the laptop and his violin down on the ground. He climbed atop John, trying best to sit in the Doctor's lap. The armchair was only large enough to house one person, and extremely uncomfortable for two. Sherlock wanted John, His loins stirred as he felt John's erection through his pants. Sherlock had been studying, without John's knowledge, on the science and facts about sex. He had read the Kamasutra, which contained sixty-four types of sexual acts. He had felt his heart race imagining him and John exploring the vast and highly erotic sensual pleasures that sex had to offer. He never wanted John to let him go. John was his. Forever. Sherlock deepened the kiss, biting at John's lower lip.

"Am I interrupting anything dears?"

Sherlock inwardly cursed as John pulled his sensual lips away from his hungry mouth. stood in the doorway her face an expression of 'I knew it'.

"What is it ?" John asked as he tore his eyes from Sherlock, feeling a blush crawl up his face. He was wondering when their landlady would walk in on them.

"I am just going out to the market, it's such a lovely day out. They opened the stalls for the morning, even though there is still a bit of snow on the ground." Mrs. Hudson explained, her eyes twinkling. "I just wanted to know if you needed anything?"

"No . We are extremely busy so please take your burgundy wool coat and get out." Sherlock sniffed as he felt John's stare upon him. Mrs. Hudson abruptly left saying something about how she knew that day would come.

"You don't have to be so rude to her. She is after all our landlady." John indicated that he wanted to stand, his legs tingling from the detectives weight. Sherlock frowned, but allowed the Doctor to get up from the armchair.

"I do not care if she is the landlady or a Russian Princess, she did not have to ruin our moment of sexual activity." John smiled slightly. He also had felt a bit perturbed when the landlady had interrupted them.

"Well, if it pleases you, your royal highness, would you like to continue?" John questioned, his voice taking on a deep and husky tone. Sherlock felt goosebumps appear on his arms. He wrapped his arms around his lovers neck and kissed John deeply. Sherlock had read in Christopher Nyrops book that a kiss is an '_exultant message of the longing for love, the burning prayer of desire, which is born on the lover's lips and rises_.' Through his kissing he wanted John to know how much he needed him, how much he desired him. John let his hands creep up underneath Sherlock's white buttoned shirt and his black dress jacket, feeling the cool flesh underneath. He explored the detective's chest, feeling for his lovers nipple. Finding it, he pinched, relishing the gasp that escaped Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock reached for John's belt. With shaking hands he undid the belt and attacked the zipper. He moaned as John's tongue invaded his mouth. Both battled for dominance. Sherlock slide his hand down John's briefs until he grasped the erection that lay beneath. John sucked in a breath of air, his eyes closing, his heart beat accelerating. Sherlock felt his own heart kick into overdrive. He marveled at how John could make his body respond in such an erotic and sensual way. Sherlock slowly began to move his long fingers across John's penis, flicking at the head, rubbing and stroking. John almost forgot how to breath. John pushed Sherlock up against the black and white wallpapered wall.

"I want you so bad..." John hissed, his teeth biting at Sherlock's throat. Sherlock squeezed John's cock, feeling pre-cum at the tip. He licked his lips. He wanted John inside.

"John, take off my pants..." John immediately undid the detective pants and they fell in a clump around his ankles. John slid his hands along Sherlock's exposed thighs and stripped him of his underwear. John drank in the sight. Ignoring their shirts, John clasped Sherlock's cock, and brought his own together, creating frottage. Both men rubbed themselves enjoying the friction that their cock's created. Their breathes stunted as they neared climax. Cum stained shirts as both men collapsed against each others shoulders. John was still hard. He wanted to be in his lover. He knelt down, spreading Sherlock's legs apart. The Doctor planted hot kisses along the inside of the detectives thighs. Sherlock gasped, tangling his fingers in John's hair. John's mouth neared the opening. He flicked his tongue, his lover responding with a small cry. John smiled, the hunger coiling deep inside. He dipped his tongue inside Sherlock, tasting him. Moisteing the opening slightly, John removed his mouth and inserted a finger. Sherlock was so hot. The muscles tightened around John's long finger. John inserted a second. He looked up at his lovers face. Sherlock's head was thrown back, his eyes closed. He was moving his hips slightly against John' fingers, moaning. John almost lost it. Gritting his teeth, trying not to just take him, John inserted three. Sherlock moaned and thrust his hips forward sharply.

"Take me now...John. NOW!" Sherlock roared his eyes flashing open. He pulled John up by the hair. It hurt slightly but John didn't care. He was too swept away by his lover's passion. John took his manhood and entered Sherlock with a hard plunge. Sherlock cried out in pain and pleasure. Both men pressed, shoved, and urged each other. John surged and hit Sherlock's prostrate. Sherlock cried out in sheer bliss. John shuddered and felt himself release. Sherlock followed suit, his fingers pulling slightly through his lovers hair.

"I guess we better take another shower." John laughed and captured Sherlock's lips once more. He watched Sherlock head up to the washroom. John's cum was seeping out and trailing along the pale legs of his lover. John carefully placed the violin and laptop on the table before heading up and joining Sherlock in the hot shower.

Both men where relaxing on the sofa, John trying to read but Sherlock was lying on the cushions, his long legs sprawled over John. He did not want John's attention distracted from him, by a mere book. He moved his legs across John's thighs, smirking as John winced and glanced over from his book.

"Sherlock I am tired. We already had sex twice this morning." He went back to his book, moving the detective's legs away from his lap.

"I enjoy having sex with you. It takes the _boring_ out of the day and I like seeing you naked my dear Doctor." John felt a blush across his face. " What are you reading?"

John raised his eyebrow surprised that Sherlock would be interested in what he was reading.

"_The Mission of Medical Doctors_. I just need to brush up on my reading...that's all really. " John trailed off his eyes going back to the book. Sherlock studied the Doctor's face. It was a man's face, beautiful and fierce. John's blond hair shined gold in the sunlight, his dark eyes scanning the pages, digesting the words on the paper. His shirt hid his muscular body, his breathing was regulated, his hands moving only to turn the pages. Both men looked up as loud footsteps echoed up the hall. Inspector Lestrade bounded into the living room, his boots dragging in bits of snow. He looked at the men; John sitting reading a book, Sherlock his legs possessively over John. Lestrade coughed.

"We need your help. There has been a murder down at the London Museum." Sherlock beamed, jumping up, sending John's medical book flying.

"Really! It is about time! Lestrade, you can go, John and I will meet you. Oh by the way is that dimwitted excuse for a man going to be there?"

"If you mean Anderson then yes," sighed Lestrade. He turned and left before Sherlock could say anything else.

"Brilliant. Fantastic! John grab your coat, we are off on another murder. I hope this one is as exciting as the last one."

"I hope not..." mumbled John, remember how Sherlock had appeared when they had captured the Town Clown Killer. He had vowed never would he allow Sherlock to come close to any harm. Dressing himself for the weather, both the consulting detective and the Doctor left to catch a cabbie in the city of London.


	2. Chapter 2

The museum was surrounded entirely by police officials and red and white lights from their cars. People stared, bickering amongst themselves why it had been closed off, guessing and arguing. Sherlock and John climbed the stone steps and into the massive structure. The inside was truly a site to behold. The ceiling rose high into the sky, the light streaming in from the side windows. The stone and brick composed the building of high archways, pillars, and beautiful stairwells. Established in 1753, the stone work had not diminished in the least. The three men walked through the Museum and into the Department of The Middle East. Housing roughly around 330,000 artifacts, Sherlock, John and Lestrade made their way to the sword exhibit. Thousands of old and ancient items were housed here and Sherlock wanted to take samples home, try some experiments on them. But he knew John wouldn't approve so he proceeded forward. John however was in awe. He had never been to the museum and the grandeur of it all, had let him speechless.

"Here he is."

John tore his gaze away from his surroundings and hurried towards the two men. He approached a scene which was horrifying, his stomach churning painfully. The smell was awful, Lestrade gave John a handkerchief. He covered his nose and mouth and peered down at the victim. Or what was left of him. The body had been hacked away, blood and body parts littering the tiled floor. John had seen far worse on the battlefield, but the feeling of disgust and horror still filled his gut. Flies were buzzing around the remains. Sherlock walked around, careful not to get his black shoes in the pools of blood. Anderson and a few others were watching, their eyes scrutinizing, watching the detectives every move.

"Curious...how could it possibly...very interesting." Sherlock stopped and looked around. " The killer is obviously a professional. He did not leave any bloody footprints, which is astounding considering how much blood there is around the victim. No visible prints, no nothing. The guard worked for the museum...,"

"Well that's obvious isn't it! I mean here we are looking at a hacked up dead man in what is a night watchman's outfit." Anderson drawled, crossing his arms and staring at Sherlock, his eyes rolling.

"Shut it Anderson. I am trying to think and your voice is killing all the brain cells in this radius. Here is a brilliant idea, why don't you go outside and play in the snow, make some snowmen?" Anderson huffed angrily as Lestrade nodded and sent the rest of the team away.

"Much better thank you. Now as I was saying. The guard worked at the Museum during the evening shift. All doors are locked, the guard stays in until the morning shift starts. He is locked in. He continues his routes, checking all levels of murderer is extremely violent. Judging from the hack work, the murderer knows how to use the weapon used to kill our victim without any difficulty. The murder weapon is some sort of sharp, long object, maybe a long knife...no too short...a sword..." Sherlock looked up at the swords that hung up on the wall. Everything looked normal, nothing out of place. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stepped forward his gaze on the particular long broadsword that hung on the wall. He read the inscription located underneath. _Khanda Broadsword: 1511_._Used by the Rajput King Jehan to defeat his many enemies. It is said to be a sword of great power, possessed by a great spirit._ Sherlock eyed the blade. Pulling out his magnifying glass he examined the khanda. He noticed specks of blood at the base of the blade where it met the handle.

"I believe we just found our murder weapon."

"What that sword? Are you saying that the murder weapon is a sword from here in the museum?" Lestrade strode over to the detective.

"Yes. I just said this is the murder weapon. It is extremely intriguing that there are no skin cells, no finger prints, no indication that the sword was removed. If you test the blood with the victim strewn across the floor you will find a match. The splatter is right at the base." He steepled his fingers under his chin, deep in thought.

"It must be the legend of the cursed blade." A low voice echoed throughout the room. Sherlock raised a delicate eyebrow. John turned and looked at the man who had spoken. He was about the same height as John, thin build, raven haired and bright green eyes. His skin was pale, covered with slight freckles. He wore thick black glasses which he pushed constantly up the bridge of his nose. He had a slight twitch in his neck and wore a bright green jacket, black pants, and white runners.

"How did you get in?" Lestrade asked, anger creeping into his voice.

"I manage this department. I came as soon as I heard!" The nerdy looking man reached into his pocket and grabbed a badge, showing it the Inspector. Lestrade looked the man over.

"I know I know what your thinking, how could I possibly be in charge of the Department of The Middle East? But I assure you that I am the real deal." The man chuckled. He patted John on the back, who tried to back away from the strange person. The man put his arm around John and grabbed at the stunned Doctor's hand.

"Pleased to meet you. The names Andy R. Bugle. Please to make your acquaintance. I run this Department of..."

"You have already informed us of your professional status in regards to the go of his hand. You are making him uncomfortable." Sherlock had turned to look at the man who was shaking John's hand fervently. Completely ignoring the consulting detective, Andy was entranced by John's presence.

"I run this Department of the Middle East. I have read so much about you Doctor John Watson! I am a fan of your blog! You could call me your biggest fan, actually I am truly fascinated about you being an army Doctor and all, I would really like to sit down with you some time and discuss about my profession, your profession." Andy had to stop and take a breath.

"That would be most amusing," John muttered, finally feeling the man drop his hand. Andy beamed ignoring the sarcasm in the Doctors voice. John's eyes turned towards Sherlock. The detective swung his neck back towards the swords, ignoring him.

"You said something about a curse?" Lestrade questioned his eyes turned up at the sword. He took a wary step away.

"Oh yes. The famous Demon Khanda. It was said that the great King Jehan forged this sword out of precious metals on a dark fort night. He called upon the spirits, summoning the dark powers into that very blade. He used this blade to conquer and defeat his enemies. However King Jehan was killed at midnight on the very same day he forged the sword, four years later."

"What rubbish." Sherlock had turned away from the sword, staring at the man. Andy pushed his glasses back on his nose.

"And just who are you?"

Sherlock frowned, his eyes narrowing.

"I am the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. The man lying murdered on the ground was not killed by a demon possessed blade." Sherlock sniffed. John could tell he was extremely annoyed by the new comer. John laughed to himself. Andy was a strange man indeed.

"How do you know it wasn't a demon possessed khanda then, Mr. Consulting Detective?" Andy puffed out his chest, his glasses slipping from his nose. John laughed, out loud this time. Sherlock glared at him.

"The hack marks on the victims body were done with the khanda, but the pattern in which it was orchestrated was human. The guard was not cut clean through, there are jagged marked around the bones, skin. If it was, though not possible, a demon possessed broadsword would have sliced clean and without resistance. The guard was most likely killed by a blow to the neck, then was sliced up by the killer. Lestrade I need to take a look at the guards personal belongings. John."

"I can take you to the locker rooms! I know the way, besides you might get lost." Andy beamed at John. The Doctor attempted a smile while Lestrade nodded and the four men left the crime scene. Sherlock glared at the man. Sherlock wanted to punch him, knock those silly glasses off his face. How dare the nerdy historian touch his John, shake his hand, stare at him with large eyes. Sherlock moved in between John and Andy, separating the two walking men. The detective didn't want Andy being any closer to John.

"Don't budge!" Andy squeaked indignantly. Sherlock glowered down at him.

"If you are leading the way then why are you not at the front taking us to the locker rooms?"

"Andy, if you could lead us, this won't have to take very long," John suggested, trying to keep the bickering at a minimum. Andy's eye lit up and he bounded ahead waving them forward.

"What a buggy eyed little man fawning on your every word," Sherlock hissed.

"He is just trying to be helpful. No need to get so angry." John glanced at Sherlock, whose face was unreadable. Sherlock strode forward, leaving Lestrade and John to hurry on after him.

"I wonder what his problem is now?" John said in bewilderment.

"I think he might be jealous in his own way," Lestrade remarked, watching John's reaction. Lestrade found out about the two of them just after the Town Clown Killer case. He hadn't said anything to anyone, respecting their privacy. He found it a bit odd at times, especially now.

"Sherlock? I don't think so..." Lestrade shrugged. Sherlock jealous? Both men never told each other about feelings or emotions for it was implied in how they kissed, how they touched. But emotions like jealousy? The Doctor pushed the thoughts to the back of his head as the men entered the locker room.

"This is the guards locker room. The man who you are looking for is Tobias Lee."

"And just how do you know this?" John asked. Andy smiled, his white teeth flashing. He again pushed his black glasses up his nose and spoke to John, ignoring everyone else in the area, much to Sherlock's annoyance.

"Oh Tobias Lee always works night shifts. He is or was the regular night guard. Everyone who works at the Museum know this. If you want to know any more details about the Museum please join me for coffee some time later th-" Andy jumped as Sherlock took a heavy object and smashed it on the lock.

"Sherlock you know how to pick locks, why smash it?" John winced at Sherlock's stare.

"There was an annoying sound so I took it upon myself to silence it." Sherlock then proceeded to pick the lock and within moments it sprang free. Andy pouted, hurt by the insult. Sherlock opened the locker and rummaged through the contents.

"Find anything?" Lestrade asked, pacing through the locker room. Sherlock continued to rummage, paused and then shut the door.

"No...nothing...John let's go." Both men left the locker room leaving Lestrade to question Andy more about the dead guard and the murder. As they exited the Museum, Sherlock took a sharp left turn, hailed a cabbie, and motioned John inside.

"Where are we going? "

"We, my dear Doctor, are going home." John nodded and got into the taxi, Sherlock sitting next to him. Pulling out his phone, Sherlock began typing with vigor.

"John take this." Sherlock handed a crumpled piece of paper without taking his eyes away from the screen to John's hand .

"What's this? Where did you get this? It looks like a-" John quieted was a message cut out of letters that had been glued to the paper. "_I know what you did_..._You will pay_..." John looked up at Sherlock who glanced at him from the corners of his blue-gray eyes.

"It is obviously a message sent to our victim. The paper is a high quality grade, the adhesive holding the magazine letters in place is a type of cyanoacrylate adhesive, aka crazy glue. You only need a very small amount in order for the items in question to stick. Obviously the guard either did not take this threat seriously or he was angry, and crumbled it, putting it in his spare shirt pocket."

"Wait are you telling me that you just told the Inspector that you found nothing, yet here you are with a message from our killer?" John held the paper in his hands, not sure what to do with it.

"Precisely John. Good job!"

"Splendid!" John felt the heat rise up to his face. "This is an important piece of evidence! You should have shown this to Lestrade. It could contain our murderer's fingerprints."

"What good would it have done? This is my case and I am going to solve it, no matter the cost. Besides if the killer was smart enough to not leave any sufficient evidence at the crime scene, do you think he would have left fingerprints on this letter? No. The only prints you are going to find are Tobias Lee's." Sherlock looked at John's face. The Doctor stared at the crumpled note, trying to understand what Sherlock was planning.

"Would you like some tea dear?" asked as they shed their coats and entered the living room.

"Yes, please. Thank you." John sank into the armchair, feeling his muscles relax. He was tired and a bit angry. He closed his eyes, letting Sherlock pin the note onto the wall. The detective began rifling through notes and papers. He began plastering different pieces of information on the wall. Sherlock took a step back and tapped his fingers against his lips.

"John. Pass me your laptop. I need to do some searching."

"Get it yourself Sherlock. I am tired."

"John there is no time for rest. It is time for planning, not sitting down and drinking tea."

John ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair.

"Sherlock, has it ever occurred to you that I am not a machine like you? I can not just carry on without having some sleep or something to drink. Let me rest for five bloody minutes." Sherlock closed his mouth, watching the Doctor. John was getting upset. Sherlock noted the lines around the eyes, his tense shoulders, his posture and his tone of voice. Sherlock sighed, trying to get back on track with the murder. He began tapping his fingers, rolling back his head. An idea came to him, the butterflies stirring in his abdomen. And it had nothing to do with the murder as he turned his attention back on the Doctor who sat in the armchair completely unawares to what the detective had in store for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock walked over to John who sat in the leather armchair, his eyes closed. Sherlock took his long slender fingers and began massaging John's hair. He used his fingers to stroke the tense muscles, enjoying the softness of John's hair, the sweet scent of shampoo that drifted up. Honeysuckle Rose. had given it to John as a gift for helping her out with a few things. The scent was intoxicating.

"That feels...wonderful Sherlock." John let the detectives fingers seek out his sore spots. With each movement John felt himself relax, his frustration melting away. Sherlock smirked, slowly moving his fingers down towards the neck. John moved slightly forwards, allowing Sherlock's hands to slip underneath his shirt.

"I am trying to manipulate the superficial and deep layers of muscle and connective tissue to enhance and relax your well-being. I am giving you what is known as a _champissage_ or Indian head massage. It focuses on the head, neck and face muscles. It will help you relieve all this stress you have been holding up inside." John groaned as Sherlock kneaded deeper. The butterflies spiraled as John groaned, his eyes still closed.

"Where did you learn how to do this?" John moved forwards, allowing Sherlock more access to his muscles.

"I need you to take off your shirt." John raised his eyebrow but did as he was told. He took off his sweater and then removed his shirt. Sherlock admired the muscular back before him. His pale fingers explored the length. John felt blood flow downwards. Sherlock's hands felt so...erotic.

"Now I need you to lay on the couch. Take your pants off."

"Sherlock, please you can just massage my shoulders." John didn't want Sherlock to see his growing erection, he just wanted to enjoy a simple massage, even though having sex right now seemed like a good idea. Sherlock tutted.

"I want to do a Japanese Shiatsu. Remove your clothing and lie on the couch. I will not ask again. Besides in the ordinary world of ordinary people, they get massages all the time."

"Lucky me..." muttered John. He took off his pants, aware that Sherlock was watching his every move. He kept his briefs on and went towards the couch. He lay on his belly, shivering at the slight cold. He felt Sherlock's thumbs, fingers, and palms brushing against his neck, back, and legs. He felt his breath quicken. It was hard to concentrate on the massage with Sherlock's hands all over his body.

"The word massage comes from the French _massage_ _'friction of kneading'_. It is all very interesting. Remove your briefs." John turned around on his elbows to look at the detective.

"What?"

"I need to be able to massage _everywhere_ John. Those briefs are in the way." Sherlock's voice was husky, his blue-gray eyes burning bright.

"Then remove them yourself." John said, his voice dangerously low. Sherlock felt shivers coarse through his every nerve. He licked his lips, allowing himself to clasp his lover's black briefs in his hands. He slowly began to pull them down, lifting up Jon's legs to get them off. Sherlock drank in the view. He wanted to touch and taste. He wanted John to think only of him.

"Well get on with it then. My muscles are aching for your skilled fingers ." John smiled, his eyes clouding over with desire. He wanted Sherlock to caress him, his skin was practically crying out for the cool touch. The Doctor sat up, facing Sherlock, his dark eyes boring into the detectives.

"Here is your tea Doctor Watson, Oh my-" Mrs. Hudson had walked into the room, a cup of steaming tea and warm buttery biscuits on a tray. John grabbed a pillow and threw it over himself. His face flamed crimson. Mrs. Hudson's mouth opened in shock.

"Thank you . That will be all. I would appreciate it if we could have the flat to ourselves for a couple hours? Maybe do some shopping or whatever normal boring people do." Sherlock took the tea and biscuits from the landlady who quickly recovered her composure. She smiled a bright wide grin and winked at Sherlock.

"Make him happy dear," she whispered as she left the room. Sherlock chuckled. Oh he would make Watson see stars. He took a biscuit and bit into it. He walked over to where John sat, his face a lovely shade of red. He kissed John, the biscuit passing between their lips.

"That's extremely tasty...the biscuit." Sherlock took another bite, this time swallowing it himself. John watched as the food pasted down the smooth white throat. Sherlock smiled amused. He pulled up a chair and sat in front of the Doctor, the tea in his slender grip.

"Remove the pillow..." Sherlock said in a matter of fact tone, " and stroke yourself. Make me want you..."

John raised his dark eyes. Sherlock was in command mode. Slowly he removed the pillow, presenting himself fully nude in front of his lover. He watched Sherlock's eyes narrow, but other than that his face was unreadable. Sherlock took a sip of tea, his eyes never leaving the Doctor. John shivered. His cock pulsated as he took his right hand and began to stroke himself. He moaned softly as he moved: up...down...up...down. He imagined Sherlock sucking him off, his tongue licking and his teeth scrapping ever so slightly. His heart thrumming, he closed his eyes. Pumping he imagined Sherlock beneath him crying out in pleasure, his arms wrapped around his body, the detectives legs wrapped around his waist. His fingers slick with precum, John felt his hips thrust forwards. With small growls John stroked harder, feeling close to climax. Sherlock watched all this, drinking the sweet tea. He felt his own cock harden to a point of madness. His John was jerking off on his couch. Naked and on the couch. Sherlock drank the last sip just as the Doctor released his seed. John sat gasping for air, his heart rate trying to slow itself down. Sherlock clapped, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

"What a performance John. Really splendid."

"Strip." John whispered the word, the one word that Sherlock needed to hear. Sherlock smiled, a smile that caused John's cock to become painfully hard once more.

"Tell me John...what should I strip first." Sherlock gestured to his clothes. He wore his black jacket, with a wine colored shirt underneath. His fitted black pants hugging his slender figure.

"The jacket...then the pants...then the shirt..."

Sherlock lifted his hands to unbutton the dress jacket. John's eyes burned into his flesh, already mentally chucking Sherlock's clothes from his body. John could hardly contain himself. It was taking every ounce of strength for him to sit on the couch. Sherlock had taken off the jacket, and had started to unzip his pants. He let them fall gracefully to the ground. The wine shirt contrasted beautifully with his pale skin, his dark curly locks, and his blueish eyes. He unbuttoned it and was about to throw it off, but John stopped him.

"Forget the shirt, leave it on, just get yourself over here..." John growled deep within his throat. He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's arms, dragging him to stand directly over him.

"Now play nicely John. The game is just starting." Sherlock purred. He allowed John's warm fingers to explore his chest, gasping when they found his nipples. John moved his head upwards towards Sherlock's chest, his lips kissing the pink skin, feeling the nipples tightening under his tongue. Sherlock let his hands rest atop his lover's hair, feeling how soft it lay beneath his fingers. Moaning softly, John bit at the tip of the nipple, his hand grasping Sherlock's erection. Sherlock felt his knees go weak.

"Move."

John began to slide his fingers over the detective's cock, building momentum. Sherlock bucked his hips into John's pumping hand, his mind enjoying the sensations. Sherlock whimpered softly in John's hair, feeling himself coming to the end. He cried out as John replaced his hand with his mouth. Sherlock thrusted deep into John's throat, enjoying the warmth and wetness. John bobbed his head back and forth, feeling his lover's fingers tugging his hair.

"I am-ah-" Sherlock came. He looked down at John just as he swallowed the seed. Sherlock hummed softly as he wiped his lover's lips. John stood, kissing Sherlock's navel.

"I need lubrication..."John murmured into Sherlock's ear. He went into the kitchen and searched among Sherlock's many experiments. Finding what he needed, John returned to Sherlock, who was trembling slightly.

"I want you inside me John." Sherlock kissed John, their tongues searching. John fumbled with the oil, letting it slide onto his fingers. He thrust one finger inside Sherlock, enjoyed the clenching of the tight muscles.

"Forget the fingers. Just enter me..." John hissed. He turned Sherlock over, letting the detective rest his forearms on the couch. He grasped his legs, like a wheelbarrow, and penetrated the moaning Sherlock. John began to move. He thrusted again and again, aiming for the spot that would throw Sherlock over the edge. Sherlock whimpered, calling out John's name, over and over.

"You are so tight...So good...Mine..." John moaned, his voice losing the battle. Sherlock cried out as John hit his prostrate.

"HARDER!" Sherlock cried, his arms shaking, his heart rate accelerating. He wanted John to pound him, lose himself in this tornado of emotions. John surged forward, surging harder and faster until he felt himself reaching an orgasm. His body spasmed as he cried out, spilling himself into Sherlock. Sherlock sobbed, reaching his climax as he released himself. The held their positions, still joined, as they caught their breathes. John slowly pulled out, watching his sperm lightly spill out from Sherlock's opening. Sherlock groaned. John helped him back to his feet. Sherlock could barely stand, his knees where so weak. John smiled at his worn out lover.

"Let's go take a bath. We will work on the case after we have relaxed. We can order some takeout...Chinese?"

Sherlock nodded, to exhausted to reply. Sex with John was utter bliss. It always left him breathless and wanting more, even though he could hardly stand. John helped Sherlock up to the room, preparing a rose petal bath. Mrs. Hudson said it helped her release stress, so John decided to use them in the water. As he got the bath to the perfect temperature, he slide into the water, tugging Sherlock with him. Sherlock nestled into his chest, sighing as the water did its job.

"Why did you put these red petals in the water?" Sherlock asked, his hands spinning lazily through the water.

"Mrs. Hudson said it helps her with stress. It makes it smell nice..."

"How thoughtful..." Sherlock closed his eyes. He smelled the scent of the roses, of John. His heart hummed in his chest, content. After they ate he would continue to locate and find out who this mysterious killer was. Until then, he enjoyed being wrapped in the Doctor's strong arms in the rose petal bath.

"Sherlock. How did you get into my computer again?"

Sherlock sat at the table, the Chinese food half eaten, typing away on Jon's laptop. His knees were tucked under his chin, his eyes darting to and fro.

"Easy. It took only about half a minute to figure crack the pass-code. You really need to get one that is challenging. I am was doing research into the history of the khanda broadsword. It turns out that the King belonged to a_ Martial Race_. The Rajputs lived a lifestyle that was designed to foster a martial spirit, the warriors forming a special bond with their weapons. The khanda was a very special sword, very popular during that time." Sherlock looked up at John, who had come over to see what Sherlock was working on. Sherlock grabbed the chopsticks and began eating as John took a look at his notes. Sherlock rarely ate when he could avoid it, but the sex today had caused his body to want the consumption of nutrients and high calorie food. The Doctor began to read Sherlock's notes aloud.

"_The guard, Tobias Lee, had worked at the Museum for around a year, the only night guard to have kept that post for as long as he did_. Wait, you mean he hasn't been working there for a very long time? I thought by the sound of it he had been there a lot longer." John felt his eyebrows furrow.

"Keep reading John."

"_Tobias Lee, divorced, had no children. He was hired by the Museum Management, a man called D. Faust Van night guards did not last long, as they were not to the Van Hurst's taste. Van Hurst is a man, wealthy and with power. He is sixty years old, lives with his wife and three sons. Though married he has a required taste for young men..._How did you get that information?" John looked down at Sherlock who was attacking his noodles.

"It was easy, if you know how to hack through mainframes and use the wonderful world of technology to your advantage. Plus I have my sources. Read on Doctor!"

"_Tobias worked for Van Hurst both the night guard shift and as a sexual release for the man when his wife and children would travel. Van Hurst deals with all the artifacts, people, and events that take place at the Museum_. "

Sherlock finished eating the noodles, handing the empty container to John. The Doctor took it and threw it in the garbage before returning to his lover.

"Are you up for a masquerade?"

"A what sorry?" John looked down at Sherlock, puzzled.

"A Masquerade. A social event which participants attend in costume and a mask. A particular social protocol that occurred during the early 17th century. Very popular. This Van Hurst is having a Masquerade Ball in a days time. We shall be attending."

John didn't like the sound of going to a large social gathering. He scratched his head, not knowing if he should let Sherlock go alone.

"I am not attending this alone John," Sherlock scolded as if reading John's thoughts, " I need a partner to attend with and that will be you."

"And what are your achievements for this hmm?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well obviously to talk to the man himself, snoop around the Museum, get more details, search Van Hurst's office..."

"Wait you can't just go in and search the Museum Managements office!"

"Sure I can. Don't worry John, everything is going to be fine. Meanwhile onto more research. Have a seat."

John didn't know if that was going to sit too well with him. But Sherlock had made up his mind, and John would have to go along with his insane ideas again. He sighed, his shoulders feeling heavy as he began to dive into the murder case once more.


	4. Chapter 4

"I do _not_ want to wear this... Why do you get to wear the other one?" John gingerly held up a Venetian mask. It was golden, weaved with musical notes and intricate swirls. Sprouting from the top was musical long curved strips, small golden balls hanging off the ends. He eyed Sherlock's mask, which was the same style, however the color was silver. His mask did not possess the strips ascending from the top. It looked more presentable, not all that foolish looking.

"We went over this before John. I hate repeating myself. Your hair is shorter than mine, thus allowing no tangling to occur between the mask's top decor. Besides, that one suits you far more, makes you look dashing. Gold does not suit my skin tone, it matches perfectly with your hair so do not argue." John rolled his eyes and turned towards his costume for the Masquerade Ball. He was to wear black dress pants and shiny shoes. The evening suit was another matter entirely. A golden jacket with floral patterns lay on the armchair. Large black buttons trailed down the front, a white tie lying underneath.

"I am not wearing this...no way am I going to be seen wearing this."

"Come now John. I am wearing one like it myself. There will be plenty of other ordinary people wearing similar costumes." Sherlock gestured at his attire. _Well it suits him quite nicely_ thought John _but then again Sherlock looks good in anything._The detective was wearing a jacket similar, but his was silver, his buttons white rather than black. He wore black dress pants and the same shoes. He looked gorgeous, sexy and powerful. John muttered to himself, cursing as he finished buttoning his white shirt. He slipped on the golden jacket, feeling it slide over his body and hugging his frame. It was a perfect fit.

"How did you know my size when you got these made?" John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock lifted his mask, hiding his eyes beneath.

"I know everything about your body John." Sherlock said in a low voice. John shivered feeling Sherlock's voice flow over his body. Sherlock glanced at the clock, lowering the mask.

"Time to go. Ready John?" The Doctor nodded, grabbing his tie, and both men left 221B and entered into the night. A car waited outside for them. The slid in and the driver sped off to the London Museum.

"Stop fiddling John. You are just making the tie worse."

"Sorry but I don't wear any type of suits that often." John struggled to put on the tie. Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh. He took John's tie and began to fix it. John watched Sherlock's pale fingers as they worked. He enjoyed observing his lover's hands. They were long and pale, nimble fingers, always in motion. Sherlock allowed his fingers to graze the hollow of the Doctors neck, enjoying the shiver that passed through the military man. John looked dazzling in his golden jacket. John never wore suits and tonight he looked ravishing. If they hadn't had to be on time, Sherlock would have initiated sex, wanting John to take him in his suit.

"In the lives of boring people it is a social protocol for business men or men of high class to engage in wearing suits. "

"Well I find them bothersome." John looked down at his now perfect white tie. Sherlock nodded in satisfaction.

"We are to put on our masks when we arrive at the Ball. You will have to distract Van Hurst, when we find him, as I borrow his office for exactly ten minutes. We need to find something that will give us a lead."

"I don't have a good feeling about this Sherlock..."

"You worry far too much. You probably have a mild case of anxiety. Always thinking that everything will go wrong. You need to trust me John, take my word as law."

"Yes and I have already done that. On a few of your _brilliant_ ideas we almost got ourselves _killed _Sherlock. When I have a bad feeling it's usually right." Sherlock just stared out the window, the lights catching his jacket. He looked like a prince out of some fantasy film. John caught himself staring.

"Ah here we are. Right on schedule." Both men exited the car and walked up the stairs to the Museum. The structure was magnanimous even at night. They entered the building and were welcomed by a crowd of people all wearing their masquerade attire. It was hard to believe that a murder had happened only yesterday. The detective and his partner slipped on their masks, securing it behind their heads with a single silk ribbon.

"You made it, fantastic!" Both men turned toward the high voice. Andy R. Bugle came bounding up to the two men. He wore no mask, but had a pair of bright green glasses that almost seemed to be somewhat mask like. He wore an emerald jacket, very sparkly and a pair of matching pants. His smile was bright as he stood in front of them. Sherlock stared the man down, but Andy was not paying any attention to the detective.

"Your costume makes you look...like the sun! So..._hot_!" Andy giggled. Sherlock clenched his teeth, disliking the man even more than he thought possible. John felt his face flush slightly.

"You look very..._green_ in your outfit. Suits you, the color I mean." John stammered out trying to be polite. Andy's face broke out into a massive grin, his fingers pushing his masquerade glasses up his nose. Sherlock was finding that very annoying.

"Rather than standing here like a bunch of lesser minds, why don't you introduce us to Van Hurst? We do not have all day discussing each person's costumes..." Sherlock managed to growl out. Andy nodded, finally acknowledging the detective standing next to him.

"Follow me. He is just talking with some people over by the Egyptian Statues." Andy grasped John arm and tugged him in the general direction. John stumbled forward. The thin nerdy man was a lot stronger than he looked. Sherlock slapped away Andy's hand. The man turned around, his eyes narrowing, something dark in the green eyes. Sherlock stared at him.

"John's leg has been bothering him recently, dragging him across the Museum is not allowed. You can tell by his stumble that you have caused him great pain." Sherlock wanted to kill the man. That was the second time this Andy R. Bugle touched what is his. Andy's eyes went wide, turning to John as he profusely apologized.

"It's fine, just lead on." John raised his brows, glancing at Sherlock. Sherlock's ears where red, his blue-gray eyes flashing behind the mask.

"Limp like when you had your cane, as your experiencing muscular pain." Sherlock hissed. John couldn't believe his lover. Why was Sherlock acting like this?

"But I am not in pain..."

" Do it or soon you will be." John cursed under his breath. Sherlock was being a pain in his rear. Dragging him to this Ball, making him wear this ridiculous suit and now pretending to be injured.

"Fine." As the two men followed Andy, they approached a tall white haired man his eyes widening slightly as he eyed John and Sherlock appear. He was drinking with what Sherlock noted as his wife.

"Mr. D. Faust Van Hurst may I present Doctor John Watson and his colleague..." Andy sniffed and motioned towards the indignant Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Van Hurst replied, holding out his hand. Sherlock ignored it and studied the man. John extended his hand, which the older gentleman shook gratefully. "May I present my wife Beth Van Hurst." The older woman nodded, her mask hiding her expression.

"I would love to chat with you people, but I must use the restroom. John here will be delighted to engage you in any conversation." Without so much as a nod Sherlock left John standing with a bunch of strangers, feeling every eye turn in his direction. John made a mental note to pound Sherlock senseless for leaving him here alone.

"So your Doctor Watson. What is it that you do?" Van Hurt voice was deep, his chubby belly moving with each word. John didn't like the stare in his brown eyes.

"I um, am a medical Doctor."

"A doctor, fascinating. Would you care to elaborate?" The lady Van Hurst inquired, her gravelly voice echoing throughout the small group. Andy nodded his glasses threatening to fall off his face. _ Curse Sherlock_ John thought. He only needed to keep them busy for ten minutes. John took a breath and struggled on where to start.

Sherlock meanwhile had slipped through the crowd unnoticed. He had found the blueprints overnight for the Museum and followed his mental map to Van Hurts office. He walked up flights of stairs, twisted through various Departments, soon finding himself standing outside the office in which he needed to find any evidence that would hopefully find some lead for this case. He pick locked the door, swinging it open and stepping inside. The office was neat, organized but the desk was a tornado of papers and letters. Sherlock quickly made his way and began sorting through the mess. He glanced at his watch. Six more minutes. He checked the drawers, papers, anything that could hide information. He ran his hands along the underside of the desk, trying to find any sort of opening. His finger ran along some sort of button. Sherlock pressed down, hearing a slight click. He bent downwards. A small secret drawer had opened. Sherlock's felt his heart leap. A few small notes addressed to Van Hurst were written in Tobias Lee's handwriting. Sherlock knew this from the signature below. He grabbed them , about to close the drawer, when he noticed a small thick white enveloped pushed to the back. He grabbed it and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Two more minutes. He dashed out of the room, locking the door behind him.

"Medical services have dated back since 1660. To join a doctor needed to be qualified and single, then undergo a further examination in physiology, surgery, medicine, and zoology. Today it's based on the same principles. " John stated to his small crowd.

"Yes. Very interesting. Your knowledge is vast Doctor Watson. It's good to know that we have someone of your stature living in London." Van Hurst chuckled.

"I agree. If you will excuse me, I have just spotted Lady Hawfill.' Mrs. Van Hurst nodded and left the group. Watching his wife depart Van Hurst then turned his attention back on the Doctor.

"You will have to excuse my wife. She didn't want to attend the Ball tonight. It's a terrible thing what happened here yesterday. But being a museum it had to be re-opened. I do regret losing . He was a valuable employee. "

"Ah Tobias Lee. Do you have any idea why he would have been killed?" John tugged at his tie. It has started to feel to small around his neck. But he immediately released it, seeing both pairs of eyes stare down at his exposed neck.

"No. was a great man. I don't know why anyone would want him killed. He was very _skilled_ in his area of work." John inwardly shivered remembering Sherlock stating something about the two men being sexually active. John wanted Sherlock to return as soon as possible. He was getting goosebumps from being close to two men who had been eyeballing him all throughout his speech. _As though I am some sort of dessert _he thought _Sherlock were are you?_ Almost as if reading his very thought, Sherlock reappeared. John sighed in relief.

"Sorry I was long. I had constipation. Very nasty, been trying to get rid of it for some time now. John I believe it's time for us to go." Sherlock smirked.

"But you have only been here for a short time. You should stay. I could show you around the Museum." Van Hurst argued.

"I would love to stay Hurst, but," John started.

"Please call me Faust."

"Yes... um Faust... but my leg has been bothering me tonight. I really do need to get a decent nights rest. I hope you'll excuse us."

"Yes, if you must. Feel free to drop by anytime." Van Hurst reached into his pocket and gave John his card. John took it and slipped it into his pants pocket. Nodding to both Andy and Van Hurst, John limped away with Sherlock back out into the cold evening air. As they waited for the car to come round, Sherlock raised his eyes at John who had discarded his _limp_.

"What was all those dreamy looks about John? Those men barely tore their gaze from you. Dilated pupils, sweaty palms, nervous twitches. All common signs of a person interested in the other." Sherlock let the anger and annoyance creep into his voice. He tapped his fingers impatiently on his leg, watching the Doctor's breath mingle with the cold air.

"You were busy _snooping_ around in Van Hurst's office! You told me to keep them occupied!" John crossed his arms over his chest. He was angry. Very angry.

"You kept them well _engaged_. Maybe both will want to take you out for a bit of tea. Talk to you about pointless chatter then maybe ask you to join them for a nice _rendezvous_ at a Motel room! Even asking you to call him by his first name. _Faust_. What a boring and dull name." Sherlock fumed. He had never let such a petty emotion such as jealousy overwhelm him, but today it's ugly head reared up in full force.

"It was not my brilliant plan to come to a Ball, break in to some man's office! I didn't even want to show up but you dragged me out here on your own accord!" John growled his fists curling up. He wanted to punch Sherlock, and was very close to losing his composure.

"Well I shall have you know John Watson that I succeeded in retrieving some very valuable documents from my _snooping_! I would have been able to achieve them without your help." John stared at the detective. He was going to open his mouth but the car pulled up and Sherlock took this opportunity to open the door and swing inside. Just as John was about to enter the vehicle, Andy came running down the stone stairs.

"Doctor John Watson!" John paused, faced Andy and tilted his head, indicated he had the man's attention.

"I just wanted to let you know, you have my full support in helping you find the murderer. I will do anything to help. Just let me know! I have added you in my Top Five on my phone so I will contact you if I find anything!"

"Sure...but...umm...how did you get my phone number?" John stammered. Andy beamed.

"I just searched on your blog and did some hacking. I found it in a matter of minutes. Well good night and will keep in touch, as this murder happened in my Department. Oh its so exciting!" John nodded at Andy earning yet another blinding smile. He sat down, closing the door. John sighed as the car left the Museum and head towards 221B Baker Street. He glanced carefully at Sherlock, who was pointedly ignoring John. It was going to be a long ride home. The car was filled with tension all the way home, both men too mad at one another to speak.


	5. Chapter 5

The flat was quiet. The only sound was the typing of John Watson's laptop. The Doctor sat in his armchair writing away on his blog. Sherlock had locked himself in his room as soon as they had entered 221B, moving all the research material into his area, not letting John see any of the secret documents that he had _borrowed_ from the Museum Management D. Faust Van Hurst. John was still angry at Sherlock. The detective was being considerably crabby and intolerable. He did not have to apoligize for anything. He didn't do anything _wrong_, he just followed Sherlock's instructions and where did it get him? In trouble. There was no pleasing Sherlock sometimes. John yawned, stretched and shut his laptop. He rubbed his eyes, feeling his stomach cry out for something to eat. He rose stiffly from the leather chair and walked off into the kitchen. It was getting late, maybe around eleven thirty or so, but John was hungry. He raided the fridge, shoving all of Sherlock's gruesome experiments aside. Pickled frogs, a human heart, and some kind of animal, John couldn't tell what it was. Sighing, he grabbed the chocolate milk, pouring himself a glass. Putting the milk back in the fridge, John let the cold liquid quench the hunger. He heard Sherlock's violin screech through the walls. The Doctor winced, his hears pounding. _I should go out for some air_ John contemplated but he was so tired. He sighed and walked up the stairs to his room. He paused outside Sherlock's room. He really wanted to know what Sherlock had found, but he did not want to apologize for something _Sherlock_ planned out. John shook his head and entered his room. He striped himself to his briefs and crawled into his green covered bed. He grabbed a pair of ear plugs which had given to him for Sherlock's violin closed his eyelids, grateful for the quiet. His breathing slowed as the Doctor drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock meanwhile was trying his best to think. He still hadn't opened the documents he attained from the Museum, still hadn't read the letters from Tobias Lee. Usually he would have dived straight into trying to find out clues but something was stopping him. His fingers itched to hold the letters, his brain screamed to analyze them, but his heart was telling him to go apologize to John. He set down the violin running his slender hands through his curly hair. He paced back and forth.

"Damn every emotion known to man!" Sherlock said, as he stood in front of the wall of notes and Museum layouts. He took a deep breath, calming himself down. He opened the door and strode over to John's room.

"John. .. John." Sherlock waited outside the door. Hearing no answer the detective opened the door and stepped in. It was dark, the only light came from John's clock. The Doctor lay sleeping soundly his soft breathing filling the room. Sherlock quietly walked over to the chair and sat down, watching his lover sleep. He watched John, never talking his gaze away. Evey moment with John was precious, and Sherlock liked to watch John sleep. He appeared to be so relaxed, his naked arms hugging the pillows. Sherlock felt his eyes drupe. Soon both the detective and the Doctor were sleeping soundly, their breathing matching in rhythm.

The great clock chimed as the great hands struck midnight. The Museum was silent. Deadly silent. In the Museums Management office it was far from quiet. Loud grunts bounced off the dimly lit walls. A man, the new night guard was bent over the cluttered desk, his eyes closed, whimpering. His pants were bunched around his ankles, his jacket tossed over to a corner. The old man was grunting as he thrust into the younger man, sweat beading on his forehead. Van Hurst moaned as the young night guard cried out as he dove deeper.

"ARGH!" Van Hurst came into the man who cried out as he reached his climax. As the Manager of the Museum lifted himself out of the spent guard, he proceeded to clean himself up.

"Put your pants back on then continue to patrol the Departments, make sure nothing is wrong. I don't pay you for wasting time. After your done come back, we will have another round. Oh don't bother emptying your hole of my cum, I want it the way I made it when you get back." The guard whimpered and quickly dressed. Hurriedly he left the room, away from the man who was now engaged in his paperwork.

"Men these days. So foolish, so easy." Va Hurst relaxed back in his chair. However one particular man had caught his attention. That doctor, John Watson. Van Hurst shivered. He wanted to see that firm muscular body quiver in pain and pleasure underneath him. Have the medical doctor perhaps chained, a ball gag, maybe some toys thrown in. That doctor was handsome, very much everything Van Hurst looked in for a young man. Van Hurst licked his lips.

"Doctor John Watson...he would make an excellent fuck." Van Hurst chuckled. He looked at his clock as the fourth chime for midnight struck. He buried his head into his paper work all the while thinking of how he could get the Doctor into his bed. A slight breeze caused the older man to look up. No windows were open, nothing moved. He narrowed his brown eyes.

"Whose there?" He stood suddenly in his chair, his eyes searching his large office. A cold sensation prickled on the back of his neck.

"I know what you did." The cold low voice hissed. Van Hurst almost fainted, his heart beating in his was an unearthly sound, every syllable entering his bones, causing him to go slack.

"I don't know what you are talking about!"

"Don't play the fool. I know about the coins, the artifacts from the Departments. I see all that happens in this place. I know what you are up to."

Van Hurst sobbed as a blade caressed the back of his neck.

"What do you want me to do?"

"_Die_."

Van Hurst didn't even have time to scream before the large broadsword khanda took off his head.

The new night guard winced slightly as he walked through the silent halls. He could feel the cum deep inside. His wife had made him take this job, the pay was a generous amount for a night guard. He didn't know what to expect. He thought he would just have to patrol the Museum not whore himself to some old man. Shivering he made his way through the Departments. As he worked his way through the Department of The Middle East, he went to see the broadsword that people where talking about. The one that was said to be possessed and which had killed a guard. Managing a laugh the guard shone his light up at the sword. He didn't believe in such he looked for the sword he dropped the light, his face a mask of terror. The sword was gone. The guard left the light, running back to his Manager, slipping on the cold stone floor. As he climbed the stairs and rounded corners, he made it back panting to Van Hurst's office.

"Sir! Sir!" The guard entered the room. He screamed as he stared down at a gruesome and bloody scene. Van Hurst was lying strewn across the floor, his body hacked into large bloody parts. His face was open in a silent scream. The guard grabbed his stomach and threw up. Wiping his mouth he staggered out of the room. He needed to get out of the museum. He managed to make his way to the doors. He tripped, falling face first onto the stone, scrapping his arms. Moaning in pain the guard managed to open the doors, his keys falling from his hands. He unlocked the door, screaming into the night. Back in the Museum there was an eerie quiet. If the guard had returned to look at the missing sword spot, he would have noticed the khanda hung back in place, its cold metal blade shining in the moonlight.

John woke, the sunlight streaming into his bedroom. His alarm said 6:30 AM. He rose, rubbing his hair out from his forehead. He looked around with groggy eyes and noticed Sherlock sleeping on the chair in front of him. The detective was fully clothed, his head resting on his arms, which was folded over the chair top. John rose from the warmth of his bed.

"Sherlock...Sherlock." John lightly stroked Sherlock's back, trying to wake him. Sherlock groaned, his full lips moving so slightly. Sherlock's blue-gray eyes lifted into John's own. He quickly awoke with a start, pushing himself off the chair. He averted his gaze from John's body.

"Sorry about last night." John raised his brow. Sherlock's face was lightly flushed, his eyes downcast towards the floor. Sherlock was apologizing? This never happened.

"I shouldn't have mad you so angry."John said, scratching his chin feeling the slight stubble growing. Sherlock still didn't look up at the Doctor. John stepped closer to him, lifting his face with his hand.

" As long as you don't go making me wear a suit again for a long time, especially a gold one." John kissed Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock chuckled.

"But you are sexy wearing a Versace Suit. Especially when it hugs your figure, shows off your muscles oh Doctor Watson." John laughed at Sherlock's attempt at flattery. Sherlock smiled and kissed John on the mouth.

"Shall we get you out of those briefs and have _make-up_ sexual intercourse? I haven't been able to stop thinking about you inside me..." Sherlock purred reaching down and grabbing John's cock. John hissed though his teeth.

"Make up sex? Are you sure you can handle this? I am going to make you pay for last night so get ready..." Sherlock frowned.

"I thought you had forgiven me?"

"For somethings I have. But you are going to have to pay me back for having to talk about my medical career with those two alone." John growled as he stepped away from the disappointed Sherlock. Sherlock took a step forward but John shook his head.

"Strip first." Sherlock's eyes blazed at the command. In a flash he shrugged of his shirt and pants. He stood in his underwear, his manhood fully erect, straining to be released from its fabric prison. John watched the rapid breathing of his lovers chest; nipples perked, soft creme skin, the sound of heartbeats.

"Eager today are we?" murmured John, " Now lose the briefs." Sherlock wanted John to suffer a little. He slipped his pale fingers under the band of his briefs and slowly, very slowly slide them off, moaning as he teased John with his movements. John's breath hitched in his throat. He watched as Sherlock stood fully nude . He didn't make a move, just stood there. Sherlock glowered in impatience. John smiled and shook his head, mouthing the words _stay still_. Sherlock did not want to stay still. He wanted John to capture his lips, touch him.

".Now." Sherlock moaned the words, bucking his hips forward, his cock moving with the rhythm. John bit his lips, drawing blood. _Hold it together John, you can do this_ chanted John, his mind trying to gather its thoughts. Sherlock hissed. He grabbed his own erection needing to create the friction he desperately wanted.

"No." John said, his eyes narrowing, "You are not allowed to touch." Sherlock scowled, but obeyed. He stood still, painfully aware of John's eyes sweeping over his form. A few moments passed, Sherlock could feel the sweat bead on his neck. He looked at John and the Doctor wasn't doing to well either. He had sweat appearing on his forehead, his erection screaming for him to enter his lover.

"I want you to prepare yourself. Then without the use of your hands, I want you to mount my cock." Sherlock shivered at the challenge. He took his fingers in his mouth and sucked, moving his hips forwards slightly. Sherlock's stomach flipped over and over as he watched the Doctor's dark eyes bore into his very soul. He sucked until his fingers were slick and carefully, never talking his gaze from his John's, Sherlock inserted a finger. He marveled at how his muscles contracted. He moved his finger up and down, purring deep with in his throat. He inserted a second finger, stretching the muscles, then inserted the third. He rocked his hips back and forth. With a nod from John, Sherlock removed his fingers and stood facing his lover.

"No hands..." John managed to choke out. Sherlock moved his head slightly a smirk adorning his handsome face. Sherlock pressed his body against the shorter mans, trying to position John's cock above his opening without the use of his hands. John cursed as Sherlock's erection brushed against his belly. A few painful moments of calculation passed as Sherlock managed to get his lover's penis right above his hole. With a deep breath he slowly moved forward. John relished the look on his partners face. Sherlock was trying so hard, yet he was finding it extremely aggravating that he could not slide so easily over John. Sherlock stopped. His mind swirling, he recalculated his options. Sherlock stepped closer to John, his erection pressed tight on the other man's abdomen. The Doctor inched forward, his lips kissing his lover's nipple. Sherlock moaned. With a quick thrust of his hips, an odd twist of his body, Sherlock felt John's penis slide through his opening. John threw his head back losing himself in the sensations. Sherlock winced as he thrust further, taking the Doctor deeper.

"How..did you...manage that?" John whispered, sucking in air as Sherlock placed his hands on his chest.

"Some... master mathematics... calculating...ah...mmmm...and planning." Sherlock moved his hips again. John grasped his lovers buttocks and plunged. Sherlock dug his nails in the Doctors chest, his mind seeing stars. John couldn't believe Sherlock had managed to do that, but Sherlock usually solved anything that looked impossible. John felt Sherlock squeeze from the inside. He growled, claiming Sherlock's mouth, crushing it against him. Sherlock melted into John's well formed chest as John began to pummel Sherlock into pure pleasure.

"Ah...mmmm...Mine...John your mine...AH!" Sherlock felt himself shake, sweat dripping off his back. John's hands were like fire, gripping his buttocks, filling him.

"Stay with me..."John gasped as he steered Sherlock to the wall. Sherlock threw his head back and whimpered at the weird sensation of walking and still being penetrated filled his being. John pressed Sherlock against the wall, hoisting the taller man above the ground.

"You legs...argh...put them around my waist...good..."

Sherlock nodded his dark curls bouncing around his face. His mouth was quivering slightly but John pressed a hot kiss against his lover's wanting mouth. John began to resume his thrusting, his hips moving faster in time to the erotic moans of Sherlock. John had to put a sweaty hand on the wall, Sherlocks fingers leaving his chest to travel down to where they were joined. John just about climaxed when Sherlock's fingers explored the intimate area while John was trying to focus on hitting Sherlock's prostrate. Sherlock's hand came back to rest on John's chest, his fingers teasing the Doctor's nipples. John pushed deep into his lover. Sherlock cried out. John smiled, his breath coming in rasps. They continued their efforts until both men shouted out their release. They stood their for a few moments, catching their breaths.

"That was the best make-up sex I have ever had." John murmured into Sherlock's neck. Sherlock moaned as John moved inside him, becoming hard again. "Now for round two." Sherlock smirked over John's shoulder. He was going to make this the best sex that John ever had. He took John's face in his hands and claimed his lovers mouth in a kiss that would have made Cupid blush.

"Are you telling me that the great Sherlock Holmes... you... haven't read any of the documents yet?" John asked genuinely shocked. Sherlock felt the blood flow to his face.

"I was too busy thinking of how I had made you feel and about...having sexual intercourse with you while you were angry." John shook his head with a confused smile. He would never be able to figure out the world's only consulting detective.

"Should we look at them now, over tea or coffee?" Sherlock nodded. He left the living room as John went into the kitchen to prepare the drinks.

"Things went rather well this morning I take it?" Mrs. Hudson appeared suddenly in the door way. Cursing John dropped a cup, but managed to catch it just in time before it fell crashing to the ground.

"...err...what went rather well?"

"Oh Doctor Watson. You know. You and Sherlock, being so lovey-dovey in the morning. I could hear you two from my room downstairs." The landlady twittered, her large eyes twinkling. John felt his face flame and he began knocking things over in his embarrassment.

"Oh dear, let me, why don't you go sit down." swept in, taking the coffee and tea from Jon's grasp. The Doctor sighed and went back to sit in his leather armchair. As he sat down his phone rang.

"Hello, John speaking."

"Oh Doctor John Watson. Good thing you picked up! I have been calling you for _hours_ now. I guess you must have been busy. But I just wanted to tell you that-"

"Wait, hold up...Andy?" John could practically feel the man beaming through the phone.

"Yes. Andy R. Bugle! I just wanted to tell you that there has been another murder at the Museum!"

"SHERLOCK!"

"Sherlock? You mean you live with that...what's his name...?" Andy asked his high voice cracking through the cell.

"Look I'll call you back. We should be at the crime scene in a few moments. " He clicked the phone shut as Sherlock walked into the room.

"Hold the tea and coffee ," John shouted, " Sherlock there's been another murder at the Museum."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he clapped his hands in ecstasy.

"Oh look at you Sherlock, you are as happy as a bunny." Their landlady stated as she handed them raspberry chocolate biscuits to go. John thanked her for the quick breakfast and the two men hurried of into the morning sunshine.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock Holmes paced around the Museum Management's office, his slender fingers steepeled under his chin. The detectives blue-gray eyes were narrowed, his body tense. He didn't draw his attention towards the hacked corpse that lay strewn around the great mahogany desk. Sherlock took in the bloody papers, the slight trace of sperm that had hid itself on the base of wood, unnoticed by the forensics team. He smelled the faintest trace of a cleaner, probably Immacu-10 as well as something smelling of rubber. _Van Hurst had been busy last night before he had been killed,the new guard that had started the day before. Obviously he did not know what he was in for_. Sherlock tapped his fingers against his full lips. There was no other signs that supported there had been anyone else except the two men in the office. Sherlock shook off the notion that maybe the blade could have been possessed. He knew there was a human behind these killings but who would murder a night guard who was having a sexual relationship with the Head of the Museum? From his deductions, Sherlock mentally noted that the serial killer was strong, he had managed to slice the body in maybe ten minutes...or less. The killer had to know exactly where to sever the ligaments, some knowledge of anatomy, weaponry. The mystery murderer was able to clean the scene well within a matter of minutes, using heavy cleaning solutions that left little or no smell. Sherlock folded his hands, resting them over his mouth. How could a killer move silently into a room, leave no evidence, no fingermarks, no bloody trails, kill and then put the murder weapon back on display, all within a a short time span?

"Oh why didn't I think of this sooner!" Sherlock clapped his hands, turning to face Inspector Lestrade, John Watson and Andy R. Bugle. "A full body suit perhaps... hence the smell? No visible marks on the floors, walls... "

John raised his eyebrows, Lestrade looked around confused. Sherlock spun around his gaze piercing through John.

"We need to go back to the flat, there are some ideas that need examining! Lestrade don't look so fluffed, I need you to do a search in the city, see if anyone ordered a special polyvinyl chloride synthetic plastic or latex full body suit. Zentai. " Lestrade tipped his head to one side, utterly bewildered. Sherlock turned towards the twitching Andy who was staring at the scene his eyes wide, his lips trembling.

"I have heard that you are now in charge of the Museum now that Hurst is well...dead. " Andy managed a bob of his head, his black glasses threatening to slip of the bridge of his nose. " It would be within your best interest that you leave now." Andy bobbed his head hurriedly, turned and left, muttering under his breath.

Sherlock nodded pleased.

"I believe that our killer is wearing a 'second skin' one that acts as a surrogate for a fetish. The use of such a suit can allow a person to have a 'new identity' or become someone else, or live through a fantasy. The scent in the air, rubber...latex...is what I have been smelling. The sweat that the killer produced was trapped inside a suit, thus allowing the smell to become so prominent. Inspector I need you to go this instant and search the city, every shop of you have to!" Sherlock tapped his black shoes on the cold floor.

"Are you sure about this Sherlock?" Lestrade scratched his chin.

"Absolutely positive, now instead of standing there like an idiot you could be searching for a lead to our murderer!" Lestrade ignored the insult and left the two men alone.

"We need to go back to the flat and examine those documents that you got Sherlock." John muttered his dark eyes upon the detective. Sherlock nodded and with a twirl of his jacket, both men strode back outside into the sunshine, the snow starting to recede from the roads.

Back at 221B Baker Street Sherlock led John up to his room. As he opened the door, John winced. The room was a complete tornado. Papers littered the floor, maps hung from the wall, and half drunken cups of coffee lay on his bedside table. Sherlock stepped over various objects grabbing a large envelope and some letters that Tobias Lee had written.

"Here is what I borrowed from Van Hurst's office last night." Sherlock handed them over to John who raised his brow, his dark eyes peering at the sheets.

"Read the letters first, then read what is in the envelope."

"_Faust, Someone knows. I don't know how or who, but they know about the coins and the artifacts. I made sure that they all looked identical to their original copies both in appearance and perfect matches._ _Regarding the first letter I wrote, the Funder doesn't want any problems regarding the Museum finding out about the fakes. I am trying to get some business done with our Funder. As soon you return I need to discuss with you in private. Your faithful servant Tobias_." John stopped reading, looking up from the letter to stare at Sherlock.

"Ah so Tobias Lee was working for Van Hurst not only as a sexual partner, but as a thief, stealing from the Museum and replacing artifacts with identical replicas. A Funder...someone who is buying the real artifacts from both men...or supplying the fakes. Intriguing. Read the next John."

"_Faust. Its important. We need to talk as soon as you return. I have been receiving notes left in my locker. I am submitting the latest one with this letter. I need you to return from the Funder is not happy. Tobias Lee._"

"Interesting. So Tobias Lee was scared from the notes that were left for him...the notes I suspect are in the envelope you are holding. The Funder seems like a dangerous person. Would love to meet him."

John stared at Sherlock sharply. He did not want Sherlock chasing after someone who sounded like serious trouble.

"Glaring is not good for your appearance John. Now if you would, read the cut out notes our mysterious individual left our two victims." John opened the envelope and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. It was exactly the same make as the one Sherlock had pulled out of Tobias' locker. The letters were from magazines, glued together on a white thick sheet of paper.

"_I know what you are. I know what you are doing. If you don't make things right...I will come for you...You will die..._Sherlock... I just had a thought. I'll text you later." John put down the papers and exited the room, leaving Sherlock to stare after him.

"That was rude." Sherlock muttered into the empty room. He went back down to the living room, retrieving John's laptop, layed down on the sofa putting the computer on his chest. He frowned as he was denied entry. John had changed his password_ again_. Muttering to himself as to why John would even bother to reset it, knowing that Sherlock would just hack into it anyway. With a final tap on the keys, the detective smiled as he entered onto the Desktop of John Watson.

John tapped on the yellow door of the small house. It was a tiny place, covered with a large yard that housed a small picket fence. A few Egyptian lawn decorations hid out among the shrubs, their stony eyes watching the Doctor. He ignored them and knocked again. He tilted his head as he heard crashing emitting from the inside of the dark colored house. After a few moments of gibber gabber, a nerdy looking man appeared at the door, his face red, the glasses slipping from his red nose.

"Did I come at a bad time?" John asked shifting his feet nervously. Andy just stood in the doorway his eyes widening to saucers. His mouth fell open and he let out a squeak.

"Oh no no no! Do come in Doctor John Watson!How...how did you find my house?" The man stepped aside allowing the Doctor to enter the dwelling.

" I managed to find it after doing a few searches on my phone."

"Would you like anything to drink...tea...coffee...water...juice?" Andy rambled as he led John through a narrow hallway and into a very messy living room.

"Please sit. I am terribly sorry that everything is in such a disorder, I just moved into this house a little while ago. Still trying to unpack. Just move those out of the way, you can sit on the love-seat. Water...tea...coffee...juice?"

"Um...water would be great, thank you." The Doctor moved a stack of books off of the small dark gray love-seat. Andy rushed into the kitchen muttering widly to himself.

"I wanted to stop by and as you a couple questions if thats alright, I know your under a lot of pressure," John said, crossing his legs and trying to make himself comfortable.

"No no, you can ask me anything you like. Here's your water Doctor John Watson."

"John is fine actually, not such a long title to try and get out." John smiled as he took the glass from Andy. The man smiled a lopsided grin.

"Well what is it that you wanted to ask me..._John_."

"I just wanted to ask you, if you knew about any odd occurrences when you were working, any artifacts going missing. Since you worked in the Departments I thought maybe you knew everything that happened inside. Anything to do with Van Hurst or with Tobias Lee." Something shifted in Andy's eyes, but was gone before the Doctor could notice.

"I..I don't know...I did write a letter of complaint about something ...would you like some more water? Tea...I will go make some tea..." Andy stood up grabbing John's empty glass, his high voice squeaking. John raised his brow but didn't argue. Andy was a strange nerdy man alright. Sighing he picked up a magazine from a pile on the floor. He flipped it open looking at articles about Egypt and the Middle East. As he flipped through a few pages, John's heart stopped in his chest. His fingers traced the cut out squares, his heart beat accelerating. _I wrote a letter or complaint_. Some pieces started to click. Andy knew about the murder...reported to John before the police did. He had access to the Museum keys, he would have been able to tell if an artifact had been fake. But what John wasn't able to piece together was who had killed the two men. Andy didn't look like he was able to swing such a huge he was working together with someone. John knew he probably shouldn't open his mouth, but being with Sherlock for so long, he had the desire to know the truth being the deaths.

"You knew that Tobias and Van Hurst were working together." John heard silence through the kitchen. Andy came out, holding a kettle of water. His green eyes hid a dark secret and every inch of John was screaming for him to get out. " You were the one who wrote those cut notes, threatened them."

"I told you he would find out!" A deep low voice vibrated through the walls. John backed away, his eyes wide. Every hair on his arms were raised and it wasn't from the coldness of the room.

Sherlock lay on the couch, the laptop closed. He hugged it to his chest, his thoughts whirling. John had been gone for some time. He opened his eye and looked around for his phone. It lay on the kitchen table, but for Sherlock that was too far away, he was enjoying the warmth of the computer. Mrs. Hudson appeared with a hot cup of tea.

"Hear you go dear, some nice tea to warm you up. The sun is finally making all the snow disappear. I can't wait to start planting my flowers in the planters. Where is Doctor Watson?"

"Pass me the phone . John just ran off. Very rude. I was just thinking that there is something that I am not quite getting. I have come to a concrete conclusion about our murder. It is a man. Judging by the exact weight of the blade of the khanda, the more weight it has in the swing, allowing for an easy killing blow. The movement judging by how the victim was cut into the pieces of bone and flesh, used arm and wrist movements, quite eccentric. Our killer has a strange fetish for wearing tight latex suits, thus allowing him to not leave any fingerprints, or any such traceable evidence...but the murder has be able to maneuver in the museum. He knew where everything was, the office, the blades, the..." The phone rang cutting Sherlock's fervent rant short. Mrs. Hudson handed the cell over to the detective and quickly left the room.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"It's Lestrade. I did some searching and digging. I almost ran out of leads, since none of the major stores that carry those sort of body suits had any recent orders, but then..."

"Cut the long story. What did you find?"

"I was getting to that. One small store that we overlooked in the beginning had an order go through about a month ago to someone named S.R.B. No address or phone, paid cash."

"S.R.B...interesting." With a click the detective shut his phone. He placed down John's laptop, sat up and focused his attention on the wall. His eyes traced the patterns of the black and white wallpaper. Imaginary code frolicked across, Sherlock trying to decipher any possible identification to S.R.B. A few moments later, Sherlock felt the blood drain from his face as he worked out the last to various names that materialized from the initials. S.. It was too much of a coincidence. It was highly probable that Andy, a man who worked at the Museum, who had remote access, was involved with a relative to get back at the men who had been cheating the Museum of London. Andy was smart, he wouldn't be fooled by a fake, no matter how realistic it was. The man was practically a walking encyclopedia of knowledge of the Middle East. Why didn't he notice it sooner. The way Andy acted as he heard Sherlock talking about the suit. Sweaty palms, wide eyes, shaking. He flipped open his phone and texted John.

_Found out the murderer. Text me back ASAP –SH_

A sudden text flashed on his phone. Sherlock almost ripped off the cover of the cell. _John_.

_I am heading out to Andy's. I think he might know something. Will text you back- JW_

Sherlock felt his heart freeze in his chest. The text had been sent exactly twenty minutes ago. Sherlock grabbed his coat, rushing outside, praying that John would be alright.

John's phone rang, his blood running cold as the man in front of him glared at him with hard eyes.

"Give it to me now," The deep cutting voice cut the the sound. John reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone. He quickly glanced at the caller ID. Sherlock Holmes. The phone was ripped out of his hands.

"_Found the murderer. Text me back ASAP-SH_...Well now what shall we do?"

"Don't hurt him please! We have been over this before." Any squeaked his voice shaking.

"I won't hurt him, not yet. We shall have some fun, Doctor Watson. What was the last thing Van Hurst said...ah John Watson would make a great...fuck...well I am looking forward to this." The laugh was filled with darkness. John felt his knees weaken. _Sherlock where are you?_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

**Wow. Who could the midnight murderer be? Argh. I am trying to move on to the next chapter, trying to come up with something dark. Also going to be some..I mean LOTS of smut later on. Reviews are like marshmallows...I eat them up! Thanks for reading!**_  
_


	7. Chapter 7

John felt his throat tighten. He could feel the sweat drip down the back of his neck.

"Why did you kill-"

"Why did I kill _them_?" The deep laugh came closer to John, entering his bones, making him weak, "They were _stealing_. It's a crime. A major felony to steal ancient artifacts from the Museum. I gave them a warning which they chose to ignore. That was their mistake. But now everything is fine. My brother is now the head of the Museum, he will fix everything."

"But I don't know where the artifacts are, I don't know who to contact! You killed them without getting any information and I-"

"SILENCE! We know where they are. They are in a shipment yard. Don't worry everything will be fine." The deep voice finished with a purr, the man's eyes flashing green.

John watched the exchange, his stomach twisting. He could not believe his own eyes, trying to wrap his head around the scene that was acting out.

"But what are we going to do with John...he can't leave?"

"He won't."

John turned and tried to run but the man was too fast. With astonishing speed, John was tackled to the floor. A heavy object hit the side of his head. The hard clang of the kettle smashed down, just hard enough to knock the Doctor senseless, his world turning into blackness.

"Don't hurt him! Did you kill him? Please don't kill him."

"Why would I kill such a fine man as this. No I got better plans for this one..."

Sherlock tried to hail down a taxi. His abdomen was churning, like he had a barrel of live fish swimming inside. He felt himself close to panic. The fastest he could make it to Andy's house, if he took a cab, would be about half an hour, for the man lived outside the city.

"TAXI!"

Sherlock raised his arm, grabbing a cabbies attention. Sherlock jumped in, shouting the address at the man. John had to be alright. Andy wouldn't let anything happen to the Doctor, Sherlock was sure of it. The man was practically his idol. Cursing loudly Sherlock tapped his fingers on his lap. All he could think about was John, if he was alright, if he was still alive._ Do not think that, John is alive and well...nothing is going to happen to him...nothing_ Sherlock chanted over and over in his mind. He pulled out his phone.

_Greenward Road 456. Urgent. Come prepared- SH_

He sent the text to Lestrade, hoping the Inspector would get it on time. Sherlock felt the gun hidden in his jacket, he was prepared to do anything for John. _His John_. Even if it meant killing a man. Sherlock began counting the seconds as the city passed by.

Lestrade pulled out his phone. He was sitting in the office, trying to go over details for the case. He had a cup of hot coffee which almost feel out of his hands as he read Sherlock's text.

"Hurry up boys! We got ourselves an address!" The Inspector left the coffee sitting on the desk as he armed himself for the battle to come. He rushed out the doors, the other officers close at hand.

John moaned, his head buzzing. He could feel a slight stickiness on the side of his head. He tried to move his arms but found himself unable to do so. The first sensation that hit him was that he was cold, his chest was covered in goosebumps. He blinked his eyes taking in his surroundings. He wore only his briefs. He was tied to a steel chair, the icy back digging into his shoulders. The rope securing him was made out of high quality hemp. The rope intricately encircled his chest, his arms, his hands and even traveled all the way to his feet. It was tight against his skin and every time he struggled the rope tightened slightly.

"_Kinbaku_...the _beauty of tight rope_ is roughly around eight meters in length, using two sets on you. Mmmm you do look delicious. Did you know bondage was a sexual activity was first used in Japan in the Edo period? Of course you wouldn't, I am the Middle Eastern buff here."

"I don't think this is a good idea Simon, I mean he is bleeding and-"

"Look Andy. The man who is your idol, the man you want to screw is right in front of you. Look how his skin contrasts with the dark supple rope. You know you want to touch him, run your hands along his body...besides the blood flow has stopped. He won't die."

"But Simon..." Andy whined. He was trembling, his voice high and squeaky. The dark, deep voice echoed through the walls. John looked around. He was in the basement, a very dark and cold basement. He was started to shiver. It wasn't cold enough to get any pneumonia, but it was enough to get goosebumps.

"Andy do not do this. I have done so much to help already. We both need to enjoy a little. And we have an excellent prize."

Sherlock was going mad. The cab still had twenty minutes and forty seconds to go before he reached his destination. Sherlock flinched slightly his thoughts being torn away as his phone rang. He didn't want to answer it, but flipped it open reading the text Lestrade had sent.

_On our way. Don't do anything stupid-Lestrade_

Sherlock let a small thin grin replace his worried expression. Oh he was going to do something stupid alright. He turned his attention back out towards the window, recalling all the different categories that glass was used for, trying to keep his mind away from the thought that was creeping into his mind. John was all right. He will be okay.

John turned is head away, feeling trembling fingers caress his chest.

"Don't you dare touch me!" he spat, looking at the bare wall, trying not to look into the man's face.

"Oh look who has a temper. Our little Doctor!" Simon cackled, his green eyes flaring. John whimpered at the man's hand grabbed his manhood, hard. The man licked his lips, baring his teeth.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him!" Andy sobbed. The hand was quickly redrawn as if being burnt by something hot.

"I am not hurting him Andy. I am just playing around. Besides, it looks like John is feeling stimulated..." The hand returned to its groping. John could feel his body betray him as he slowly felt himself stiffen. He hissed and arched his head back as the man's fingers probed his entrance through his briefs.

"I don't want someone like you touching me!"

"Someone like me?" A slap crossed Johns face. He growled at the pain, his head buzzing.

"Please Simon, no more violence!" Andy was sobbing.

"I am sorry, I am sorry. I promise no more hitting." The deep voice was calming, apologetic.

John, his stomach clenched as the man returned to his side. The fingers exploring once more, the deep voice rasping. John closed his eyes, hoping that Sherlock would come for him. The Doctor trembled in disgust as he felt lips close upon flesh. Teeth bit into flesh, as John gasped. The man called Simon had bit deep into John's collarbone, leaving a red mark.

"Look at me pretty boy. I want to look into your eyes when I take you." John did not turn his head. The man growled and forcibly grabbed John's chin. John spat in the face that was inches from his own. The man snapped. He grasped John's manhood with such force that John felt tears at the back of his eyes. The man's other hand slid the Doctors briefs over to one side, revealing the pink entrance.

"Ah so beautiful. You see Andy. This is ours. Ours." John gritted his teeth as a moistened finger slid in. It was cold, coated with some sort of lubricant. The feeling was strange, uncomfortable. John tried to move, but the finger slid in deeper.

"Take it out!" John cursed, feeling his chest constrict. SHERLOCK! Only Sherlock was allowed to touch. No one else.

"No..."

"Maybe we should Simon. It looks like we are hurting him."

"How many times Andy! This is natural. This is supposed to happen. Don't you remember?"

John stared at the man, revulsion filling his every pore. He whimpered as the man slid in a second finger. John had never been entered before, so the pain was rough, raw.

"Ah our baby is a virgin. Surprising..."

"Go to Hell you son of a bitch!" John whispered, grimacing as the man moved his fingers apart inside. John felt his hips move slightly trying to take them in deeper. No. He tried to steady his impulses. He stopped his hips with great difficulty.

"Trying to resist? I don't think so, not for long. Soon you will be begging me to enter you. Ah John Watson you truly are a stud."

A third finger was inserted. John felt his manhood strain against the briefs, the ropes causing a very strange arousing sensation across his skin. He trembled, the muscles shaking. He let out a shaking breath as the fingers were pulled out. The Doctors eyes widened in horror as the man took out a knife.

"Ah don't looked so panicked. The briefs are in the way..."

John watched helplessly as Simon cut away his briefs, revealing his manhood. It sprang forward, eager to be freed from the cloth. Simon hissed, his green eyes filled with lust.

"When Andy first saw you, he told me you were the most beautiful man ever. He wanted to meet you so much after stumbling upon your blog."

"Oh I am honored," snapped John. The deep laugh filled the room. It was cut short as the man before him knelt on the cold floor, his cool hands wrapping around John's cock. Before John could tell the man to go to Hell a second time, the man took him in his mouth. The Doctor went rigid as the man's tongue licked the tip, his teeth scraping against his straining member. Again the killers fingers entered John as his head began to move. The sensations were almost overwhelming. Being fingered and blown at the same time drove John towards the brink. He felt his hips buck uncontrollably, the ropes around his thighs digging into his flesh. He felt himself close to release, and cried out as he came into the man's mouth. Simon swallowed, a wide smirk on his face. John was finding it hard to breath.

"I want to enter right now! Oh how I want to see your face as I take you."

Simon paused in the act of taking off his clothing. John strained to hear what the other man had heard. It was the roar of an engine pulling into the drive way. The man cursed, leaving John tied and naked in the basement.

Sherlock slammed the door of the Taxi, stepping in front of the small house. John must be inside. He took a shaky breath and went around the back. He would be facing two dangerous men. Andy and his brother. Sherlock made sure that nobody saw him go around the back, and went to the back door. He brought out his pick lock equipment and proceeded to break in. With a satisfying twist the door unlocked. Sherlock drew out the gun and cautiously entered the silent house. He saw movement heading to the front of the house, obviously one of the men going to check out what the noise was. He looked around and noticed a door slightly ajar that headed downstairs. It was logical that John would be down there. Sherlock slowly creeped through the house, entering the basement, hoping against all hope that his John would still be alive.

John heard foot steps as the wood creaked. He hissed, but turned into a surprised gasp.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock stared at John and felt an anger so intense in which he had never felt before. His John, _HIS John_ was tied in a bondage fashion, naked, and bleeding, or what was now dried blood. Sherlock tried to cover the rising of his own erection and rage of John being tied up; his manhood quivering, his lover's nipples tight, his eyes a bright from seeing the detective. Sherlock quelled the feeling, he needed to get John out of here.

"Sherlock Andy and Simon, they both are-"

"John. I know, Andy had his brother working for him to get revenge for what Tobias and Van Hurst were doing. They both were in on it and Lestrade is coming, maybe five more minutes then we-"

"No Sherlock listen to me, Andy and Simon are-"

"Why look who decided to join the party?"

Sherlock turned slowly to see a man standing before him, a beaming smile on his face, his glasses falling down his nose. Sherlock stood and stared, his brow shooting up, hiding in his curly hair. This was most unexpected.


	8. Chapter 8

"I must say I am taken aback." Sherlock managed, his gun now pointed at the one lone man that was standing on the bottom stairs. " I never would have guessed you would have had Dissociative Identity Disorder. You have managed to live in the ordinary world without revealing your other side. A brother alter ego. I am completely intrigued and more than impressed."

"Both my brother and I coexist with each other, it is true."

"How did you come into being if you don't mind me asking. Split persona are truly fascinating subjects, created from overwhelming stress or some kind of extreme traumatic event." Sherlock held the gun steady watching the persona Simon, laugh bitterly. The facial expression and voice changed as Andy surfaced.

"Please I don't want to cause any trouble. I am extremely sorry for what Simon did, but we had no choice. The two men where taking my precious artifacts!" The man's face changed, his voice becoming deep. John and Sherlock watched with a mix of horror and fascination.

"Andy be quiet, let me handle this. Look, it doesn't matter how I was born. What I am interested in is that justice was served and I got a taste of the Doctor. Would you care for a gang bang? The three of us moaning together? John has such an erotic voice, makes me hard."

Sherlock felt his knuckles tighten, the skin turning white. He felt the blood rush to his brain; hate, anger and fire coursing in his veins.

"You touched him?" Sherlock whispered. His heart almost stopped beating, he was so furious. His John had been touched by this scum, by this wretched human.

"Simon please stop!"

"Yes I touched him, three fingers slipped in. Why, are you two an item?" Simon hissed. Sherlock cocked the gun, a ringing filling his ears.

"You are not allowed to touch my John, ever. He is mine. .. ." Sherlock growled out the words in a deep voice that caused John to quiver. The killer backed up slightly at the sound of the gun being readied.

"Look, I don't need any trouble. Just don't harm my brother." Simon's voice had taken a defensive, almost parental tone. Sherlock lowered the gun slightly still keeping it trained on the lone man.

"Well why we wait for the authorities to arrive, why don't you tell me some of your history while you untie John, or I could just shoot your brother through the head." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

Simon narrowed his green eyes, the glasses falling down his face. His mood completely changed when Sherlock threatened to shook at them. Simon stepped forward, allowing Sherlock to switch places. As the man began working on the knots, Simon began telling the men about his past.

" When Andy was in grade eight, our mother got a new man in her life. He became our father, seemed nice at first. Then the beatings began. Andy was terrified, our mother wouldn't do anything. This occurred for a few months. The son of a bitch then began to sexually harass Andy. The man he would practice various acts on Andy. Some nights it was bondage, others with friends of the bastard. He became so withdrawn, depressed. I rose to help him. We grew strong together, I learned how to use weaponry, fighting, Andy learned history, kept the innocent side. We learned how to coexist, Andy calling me when he needed help. One night when the bastard came in, I took a knife, slitting his throat. Andy means everything to me."

"You killed the men because Andy loved those artifacts." Sherlock stated.

"Yes. Andy loved his job so much. I couldn't let those bastards hurt him, make him suffer."

John quickly rose, the rope falling to the ground in a heap. Sherlock handed the gun to the Doctor, taking off his coat. Sherlock placed the coat around John, his arms shaking. Andy/Simon stared at the two men. There was silence, but that was interrupted by a loud crash from upstairs.

"Why use the broadsword?"

"Andy thought it would be a good plan, considering the legend of the cursed blade. People would think the blade was possessed, thus allowing the finger to be pointed elsewhere."

Heavy footsteps thudded down the wooden stairs as Inspector Lestrade and officers burst in. John lowered the gun, the murderer now in police custody. John slipped the weapon in his jacket pocket, pulling the buttons closed. Both the detective and the Doctor left the police to take the man away. Once outside and away from prying eyes, Sherlock grabbed John and pulled him into a death hug.

"I thought...I thought...I am so glad your okay!" Sherlock whispered into his lover's neck. John felt the warmth of Sherlock against the coat.

"I am fine. But next time don't let me go anywhere alone." Sherlock let out a slight chuckle, as he brought John's lips to his own, kissing his most important person. The entire ride back to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock never let go of John's shoulders, his pale fingers holding the Doctor to his heart.

"Oh thanks Heavens your back! I was so worried!" Mrs. Hudson cried as she ushered the two men inside. Sherlock helped John as they made their way to upstairs. John had a large lesion on the side of his head, his walking a bit sloppy.

"I will bring up some hot drinks, something to soothe the nerves." yelled up at the pair of them from downstairs. Sherlock was worried. John was shivering, a slight cough forming.

"A hot bath...something warm to drink...We need to get you fixed up." Sherlock was muttering, heading towards the bath.

"No..." John muttered.

"Don't be a complete idiot John. Your cold, we do not want you to get pneumonia. "

"Then heat me up..." John moaned as he flopped down on the bed. Sherlock felt his loins stir.

"I disagree. You need a soak, you need something hot to drink."

"I need you to drive away the feeling of someone else...I want you...in me...since I don't have the strength to be on top."

In all the time he had been together with the Doctor, Sherlock had never heard of John wanting to be the bottom. Sherlock felt the blood rush to his cock.

"Are you sure?" The question came out as a whisper.

"Yes. Oh Gods yes!" That was all the coaxing the detective needed. He closed the gap between the two, pinning John beneath him. He undid the buttons on his jacket, and gazed at John's naked form. John's chest was heaving, his voice thick with lust. Sherlock pressed against the Doctor's lips, kissing the man into a stupor. John groaned. Sherlock tore away, shedding his clothes. He returned to John's eager lips, his fingers searching for his entrance. John took his cock in his hand, pumping as he felt Sherlock insert one finger.

"Mmmm...Sherlock...I love you." John panted as Sherlock inserted two long slender fingers. Sherlock felt his heart stop at the last was the first time John had ever said anything. Sherlock felt himself lose it. John was his. He had John's love. He removed his fingers, claiming a hot wet kiss. He spread his lover's legs apart and took his erection in his hand and positioned it over John's entrance.

"This will hurt." John gritted his teeth as Sherlock plunged. John cried out in pain. Sherlock cursed. The feeling was intense; tight, hot,amazing. He was inside John, John clenching around him. He almost forgot to breath. On instinct, Sherlock began to thrust, relishing John's moans. The detective pumped harder and harder, plunging deep into his lover. Within moments he hit John's prostrate, causing the Doctor to squeeze tightly around Sherlock's cock. He hissed at the contraction, feeling his release approaching. John was calling out Sherlock's name, his head thrown back against the sheets. Sherlock thrust with all his might and emptied inside John. John cried out in a passionate voice, his own climax overtaking him. Sherlock collapse on John's chest, his heart beat matching the Doctors. For five minutes they lay there, gasping for air. Sherlock finally pulled the sheets over them, relaxing that John's temperature was not at a normal rate. Sherlock stroked John's hair as the man feel into a deep sleep.

"I love you John. Forever." Sherlock placed a small kiss at the man's forehead. A knock on the door broke the silence.

"I brought some tea for you dears. This will help the both of you." The landlady tip-toed across the room placing the tea on the bedside table.

"Thank you ." Sherlock nodded as Mrs. Hudson smiled down upon the two of them.

"You get some sleep Sherlock." Sherlock smiled as left the two men alone. Sherlock hummed a tune under his breath as night approached, watching his lover sleep. John was everything to him. Sherlock frowned. John seemed to be attracting unwanted predators. No matter. Sherlock would not let anyone take his John. He would keep him safe, no matter the cost. Sherlock finally closed his blue-gray eyes, letting sleep take him in her embrace.

The calculating eye looked over the letter and the enclosed picture. It was a photo of a military Doctor. A handsome man. The figure sat in a red ornate chair, eyes gleaming. The Funder had found a new interest thanks to Van Hurst's latest letter. Unfortunately the man was now dead. The Funder had to find some other way to entertain himself and he had just stumbled across a goldmine of fun. The Funder chuckled, his ringed fingers crushing the letter, tossing it in the trash. He kept the photo, resting it on the desk. The name scrolled under the photo read _John Watson Military Doctor_. The Funder grinned, his teeth flashing white, like a predator in the night.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

**Finally done! It's 1:00 am. I just couldn't stop writing, drinking oolong tea, trying to finish this story. I am not sure if I should write another one with the Funder. I really want to write a Supernatural and Merlin fanfic...review = love! Thanks for reading!**


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